A Sign of the Times
by TwoForATable
Summary: AU. Hermione Granger joined the Auror Academy with the sole purpose of finding her best friend Harry after he disappeared 11 years ago. When a murder case turns up revealing long-hidden crimes committed during the war, Hermione will have to fight a corrupt system and her own demons in order to guarantee Justice and perhaps finally find happiness. H/Hr.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or its brilliant characters owned by and brought to us by the brilliant J.K Rowling.**

* * *

 **November 1999**

All Harry had left behind was a letter, written in a hurry on a crumpled piece of parchment at the Burrow. When Hermione found it, she could hardly believe it, for a minute or two she thought it could only be a stupid joke, that any minute he would walk into the room with a playful grin and snap a photo of her reaction, although if she was honest with herself it would never be in his character to do something ridiculous like that.

 **November 2001**

Hermione had believed in him, that he was only going away for a long holiday, to see the world and try to find himself after all that happened in the war and the losses that came with and long before its events as well. But when a few months turned into an entire year, then two—without letters, without a single postcard or a single photograph of him posing in front of a pyramid or surrounded by a tropical jungle, or even the bustle of any metropolis in the world, Hermione's certainty that it wasn't just a holiday, it wasn't just him traveling and trying to see the world sunk in.

 **November 2003**

She imagined him having every intention to return, but not being able to because he'd been stranded on an island, a forest or a desert and without any effective means to contact her for help. She passed her Auror training, specialized in missing persons and homicide investigations. The missing persons was obvious to anyone who knew her, but the interest in homicide was the fruit of a deep fear that plagued, darkened and weighed on her heart, because a part of her dreadfully thought him to be dead.

Her best friend, her dearest friend had up and left with no intention of ever returning and it hurt more than the _cruciatus_ curse—it hurt more than words could ever describe. The thought that constantly plagued her mind as she lay in bed at night trying to fall asleep was that Harry left without even saying goodbye and more than that, he'd unknowingly taken a huge amount of her heart.

Ron didn't want her anymore, was tired of constantly having to postpone their wedding and to content himself with what he had brilliantly described as _just a shadow of herself_. Where had the old, passionate, idealistic Hermione gone? Aside from work and her never-ending search for _him_ , it seemed every other waking moment was just tears and more tears. Couldn't she see they were all hurting because of it too?

 **November 2005**

Six years had dragged on by. Her search for him had bared no fruit—just a whole bunch of loose threads and no sign of Harry Potter anywhere. The international wizarding police and even Interpol had had no such luck, she'd exhausted all of her options. Still, she refused to give up, her life's mission had turned into finding Harry Potter, dead or alive, even though the blasted git didn't deserve it and she was wasting away her youth.

Until Teddy Lupin became ill and the little boy who had been the single light of her life—the last thing that palpably linked her in a way to her runaway friend needed her more. So, she along with the boy's grandmother became each other's family in a way, along with Hermione's now widowed mother and their drive became to keep the boy alive and happy, cancer-free.

 **November 2008**

There were ups and downs when it came to her feelings on the matter. Sometimes Hermione hated him with all her might, after all they had been through, all of their years of friendship and fighting through together he had left her in the cruelest way imaginable. He had left Teddy, his godson, his responsibility, and Teddy was ten-years-old now, growing more and more each day. The prospect of him leaving for Hogwarts soon filled her heart with dread—they would miss him, she and Andromeda, because he was their little boy. But Hermione spitefully hoped Harry would miss him the most because he'd intentionally abandoned his godson and everyone who he claimed to have loved.

 _Their lives could have been so, so different..._

Still, Hermione never stopped searching.

And Ron and Luna got married and were expecting their first baby, the most precious gift.

It could have been Hermione and she could have had a baby of her own. And happiness too...


	2. Chapter 1

_September 2_ _nd_ _2009_

 _The Auror Headquarters, Ministry of Magic, London_

Chief Auror Hermione Granger sat on her desk for the third hour straight going through the piles of reports she had to read, sign and archive—another one of the capable new Head Auror's disciplining methods designed to keep her confined in her office during work hours the past two days. Sadly for Head Auror Higgins though, he had underestimated Hermione's capacity to analyze and organize in record time, she was a textbook Virgo after all, and the work that he had expected to be finished in a week was almost finished, just a signature away.

As she positioned her quill over the designated spot her door flew open and she was immediately alert, drawing her wand from the curly updo of her hair.

"New case, Granger—you're going to love it." Auror McLaggen said with a smirk as he dropped the dossier on her desk. "Victim was a recluse professor living in North Yorkshire, the moors. Cause of death still to be released."

"I'm on desk duty this week." She responded curtly, not having ever warmed to the arrogant blonde who she made the terrible mistake of going on a date of sorts with during 6th year. She grabbed the dossier, without even opening and pushed it into his hands. Cormac rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

"Read it Granger, you'll know what I'm getting at." He once again placed the folder on her desk and left. Hermione cursed his very existence under her breath as she scribbled her signature on her last report, levitating it to the appropriate pile, before she once again took a seat on her leather upholstered chair, opening the new case dossier in front of her.

"English literature professor, age 47, squib…" She scanned whilst turning the pages. She immediately pulled out the photographs taken from the crime scene—a serene expression on the victim's face. With a wave of the wand she had the photographs slightly enlarged and pinned to the blackboard facing her far wall. Without the forensic healer's complete report to confirm cause of death there wasn't much to work on yet, but with a decade's experience as a homicide and missing person's expert within the Auror field she knew an Unforgivable curse's victim when she saw one.

Hermione turned yet another page containing more photographs and once her eyes caught sight of the message written through flames across the flesh of the victim's chest she gasped, brown eyes going wide and an acid reflux involuntarily catching her by surprise, a terrible burning sensation invading her chest and throat.

'AUROR MUDBLOOD'

Hermione pinned those pictures on her board as well seconds later, when the air seemed to return to her lungs. She shot up from her chair, put on her coat and with her wand in hand left her office, going straight to her secretary's desk.

"Elaine, I need a Portkey to the Yorkshire moors, Hestia Manor, ASAP. Have we any news from forensics?" The plump blonde woman shook her head but went from painting her nails to quickly making the calls needed to provide to her boss. "Tell Auror McLaggen his skinny arse is with me on this one, will benefit from having the Head's favorite along on this case."

"No news from forensics yet, Miss Granger." Hermione huffed in annoyance, having already expected that and pulled out her muggle cell phone from her coat pocket. Always came in handy when she needed to contact someone and was in too much of a haste to think anything happy enough to conjure a Patronus. If only the wizarding community could be a bit more open to muggle technology, how much easier their lives could all be. She found Forensic Healer Andromeda Tonks' number first thing in her contacts and after just two rings she heard the older witch's curt response.

"You're on the Yorkshire case?"

"Yes. Any useful information?"

"It was an Unforgivable, but the burnt writing on his chest was definitely pre-mortem. Must have hurt as _fuck_ …" She mumbled under her breath. "I don't see it as being the AK, there was lots of internal hemorrhage and honestly I've never seen anything like it. His vital organs literally burst inside of him but externally it's as though he's just sleeping… Immediate death. The person who cast this was a pro."

"So, you can't determine the exact curse?"

"No. And I haven't yet been able to analyze the magical signature that caused this, there was even less than minimal residue…"

"That all, Andie?"

"On the case victim, yes—Teddy was sorted Hufflepuff, you can't imagine my relief." For a split-second Hermione allowed herself a small satisfied smile.

"I told you not to worry…"

"He does have Black blood in his veins…"

"Bloody hell Andromeda, it's like you don't even know the boy you raised…"

"Correction, we raised. So, you won't come for dinner then?"

"No, don't wait for me."

"Fine." And before Hermione could say anything else the older witch had hung up on her and Cormac McLaggen was rounding the corner of her office, ready to leave, waving the portkey in his hands. Hermione refrained from hexing him as his arm wound around her waist as he sported that irritating smirk of his and she felt the familiar pull on her stomach as they were being transported to the crime scene.

…

When they arrived at Hestia Manor, Hermione couldn't understand how a person could possibly choose to live on such cold, dreary, muddy, gray, utterly foggy lands. She and McLaggen walked the stone pathway leading to the stone manor's entrance and Hermione noted how the trees surrounding it appropriately hid the residence from view, although the trees quite contrasted with the moorland landscape. Hermione was able to easily dismantle the wards surrounding the manor and she opened the large wooden door to reveal the foyer. It was all dark woods, layers of dust and heavy rugs on the wooden floor, lacking varnish. A grand albeit rundown abode for a penniless squib who called himself a History professor. She ran her eyes across the room not yet detecting anything that could suggest the cold-blooded murder that had taken place. The grand staircase faced them to the center, but instead she decided to cross the arched wooden double doors open wide that led to what she assumed was the parlor, walls surrounded by ceiling high shelves of books—if only she wasn't on work duty—with velvet and warn leather furniture scattered about. There was a large stone fireplace facing one wall with the taxidermal head of a growling brown bear, it's eyes without shine. Hermione approached the mantelpiece, only old newspapers on top and a small porcelain plate with cigarette ashes. There was chopped wood in the fireplace and Hermione took note of that.

"Firewood is brand new…" She pointed to McLaggen who was taking notes.

"What could possibly be important about that?"

"Professor was caught by surprise, and if he had just put in the wood it means the weather was low when it happened—which to me suggests it happened in the evening…" She continued to walk around, her eyes fighting the urge to indulge on the gold lettering of the book titles on the numerous leather spines. "Where was the body found?"

"His study, that door over there." McLaggen pointed and she followed him in. As soon as she crossed the threshold what greeted her was the sight of a room completely torn to shreds. The wallpaper had been ripped apart revealing other several old layers. The furniture was for the most part destroyed, the thick black velvet curtains were falling apart and the amount of paper, memorabilia and a number of objects scattered about suggested someone had been trying to find something.

"I wonder if our mystery murderer found what he was looking for…" Hermione said, looking around.

"Body was right here…" McLaggen crouched down emitting violet light from the tip of his wand which revealed the faint contours of a corpse once spread over the Turkish rug. The lightness of the contours meant it wasn't blood but most likely perspiration.

"Run your wand through the rest of the room…" She ordered, frowning and following the violet hue as McLaggen did as told. When he pointed the light from the direction where the body lay on the floor to the direction of the door they had just entered from it was quite obvious to both of them.

"He was moved in here."

"Probably after he died." Hermione looked around, brows furrowed, biting her bottom lip as she did when in deep thought. "The destruction of this room was meant to sidetrack us—this isn't where it happened. Why wasn't this in the files?" She questioned and McLaggen frowned with a huff.

"Local aurors probably assumed it was a robbery. Clean case."

"With those markings on his chest?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently they deemed it unrelated to the death itself—local auror's report said the markings looked old." His eyes wandered to the burn marks on Hermione's own forearm, a perpetual reminder of the horrors suffered during the war and the torture she was put through by Bellatrix Lestrange. _Mudblood_. The look didn't go unnoticed by her, who briskly pulled down the sleeves of her sweater to cover them. "I'll run my wand again, you snap the pictures." Hermione did so and soon she too was running the violet light from the tip of her own wand, cursing the incompetence of the local auror investigators.

The tiny bit of sweat and body tissue residue that could be detected led them up the stairs to another sitting room, with large bay windows looking out to the moorlands, looking like nothing was out of place. McLaggen continued to scan around with the violet light when they both were startled by a scream followed by desperate cries of ' _no, no, no'_. Hermione and Cormac both shared a look as they stood guard with their wands and tried to hear where the voice was coming from. That was when the opulent grandfather clock on one wall began to chime, as though it were already noon instead of just 10:20 am, as was the time on Hermione's wristwatch. Hermione cautiously motioned towards the clock and McLaggen nodded her way as she approached it. The voice was no longer screaming, but the unmistakable sound of sobs and whimpers could be heard through the thick wood. Hermione opened the narrow door which would lead to the pendulum, her wand pointing straight at the person inside. There, confined in such a tiny amount of space was a little girl, cheeks streaked with tears, arms wrapped around herself, little hands flying to cover her face, repeating in the midst of desperate sobs: _"no purple light, no purple light"_. Hermione muttered _finite incantatem_ and McLaggen followed her lead.

" _Shhh_ , there's no more purple light." She guaranteed, her voice calm and low. The girl stopped repeating the words after a few seconds and her little fingers covering her eyes cracked open. Hermione knew she was ascertaining that indeed there were no more purple lights.

Hermione took a better look at the child, dark greasy hair in two messy braids. Her skin was fair and a few freckles bridged over her nose. Her tear-filled eyes were brown, the color of weak tea and she was dressed in a soiled, dirty orange dress with green knitted jumper on top—no older than six years old.

…

Upon finding the girl Hermione had ordered McLaggen to call on back-up, to further scan and comb the large manor, for the local Aurors had done nothing more than to turn in the so-called professor's body into the morgue and snap a few pictures.

She was now in the manor's kitchen with the child, who nursed a mug of warmed milk between her little hands, that she managed to sip in between sobs, eyes cleverly darting from Hermione to the backdoor from where she could attempt an escape. But Hermione had been a clever child once too and made a point of standing directly in front of the door, blocking the girl's view.

"What's your name, darling?" Hermione asked her in what she hoped was a soothing tone.

"C-Clara, miss."

"And your age?" The girl held up her hand noticeably showing her five fingers to Hermione, therefor her age. "Did you live here, Clara? Were you familiar with Rupert Shelley?" The girl nodded and the witch noticed how the name made the girl's brows furrow and her lips tremble, eyes filling with tears.

" _My daddy_ …" Clara cried out in desperate sobs and Hermione was quick to pull the girl into her arms to soothe her—never mind her stench.

…

Hermione arrived back at her office in the ministry late at night. Though most of the atrium and building were dark and empty as it was way past business hours, the night was still young and Hermione needed to try to make some sense out of the pieces of this puzzle. She wasn't at all fond of McLaggen but it would undoubtedly be of use to have him here to bounce ideas with. Hermione leaned back on her large wooden desk facing the old photographs and the new ones snapped earlier today. She couldn't stop thinking about the little girl who was now staying at St. Mungo's Wizarding Hospital for the night. A phone call from Andromeda Tonks a few hours ago had confirmed that indeed the girl, Clara, was Professor Rupert Shelley's daughter.

Hermione thought about the cause of death, internal hemorrhage, the bursting of vital organs, how the exterior of the patient revealed nothing of what had happened inside. And those words branded on his chest—she knew they weren't new as the Yorkshire aurors had assumed—she knew just what spell had been used as she had lay eyes on the very scars of her arm. _Auror Mudblood_ … Who could it be directed to if not to her, the only so-called mudblood auror in all of London and perhaps Britain? And the purple light that Clara had been so terrified of, that caused her to scream so violently at the sight of the violet light from the tip of hers and McLaggen's wands... Hermione was certain she had seen such same lights as the girl before, years and years ago when she and Ron and Harry, that bastard, had been on the hunt for the horcruxes.

She sighed heavily as the mere thought of just his name caused the stinging of tears at the corner of her eyes. 11 years gone and 11 years haunting her. She closed her eyes holding them back and after a few seconds was able to get a grip of herself.

"He doesn't know yet about Clara," she concluded to herself after staring at the images and reading through her notes several times. "He'll try to kill her too…" Hermione immediately apparated to St. Mungo's and made a dash for the children's wing of the hospital. She ran through the corridors swerving from healers, patients and equipment and finally arrived at room 703. She pushed the door open to find the little girl fast asleep, all cleaned up and washed, wearing the patient robes.

"Miss…" Clara gasped, her eyes flying open as she felt Hermione pull her covers off her and pull her into her arms.

"Hey, what are you doing, that's kidnapping…" Hermione heard the social worker cry out as she was startled from her slumber. Before she could get to Hermione and Clara, the witch disapparated. She knew she would be in deep shit tomorrow, but Clara wasn't safe at St. Mungo's—five years old but nevertheless she was a witness to her father's murder and therefor a target.

How unlike Dolohov to do such a sloppy job.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: First of all, I thank all readers so far for showing their support through the reviews, that's definitely what keeps me going, so please, take time to leave even if a small comment of your impressions of the story and the chapter so far, means the world to me!**

 **Also, it is worth knowing that this story will go back and forth a bit with time and dates. When that's the case I try to provide date, time and location but if things get too confusing, let me know.**

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 _September 3_ _rd_ _2009, 1:24 am_

 _The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon_

Hermione apparated with Clara in her arms to The Burrow, the first place she could think of that would be a good hideout for now. The house was covered in darkness as it was the middle of the night, but as soon as Hermione cast the _lumos_ spell on her wand she came face to face with an Arthur Weasley dressed in his pajamas, a glass of water in one hand and his wand in a defensive position in the other—looking every bit alarmed. Upon recognizing one another both adults gave a sigh of relief and with the wave of his wand Arthur turned the lights in the room on.

"Oy, Hermione—what brings you here at such an hour, whatever's the matter?" He asked her and before Hermione could respond she heard Molly Weasley's voice bellowing through the house coming from upstairs.

" _Arthur!_ Should it really take you a _decade_ to fetch me a glass of water?" She cried out in complaint, as she began to waddle down the crooked steps of their staircase, wearing her pink robe and slippers, only to come face to face with her husband and Hermione, who to her surprised had a child in her arms, little arms wrapped tight around her neck and legs equally tight against her waist, face buried in the curve of Hermione's neck.

"Molly, dear, our Hermione is here…"

"Yes, I see that." Molly eyed Hermione curiously, "Well? Are you going to tell us or not?" She asked pointing with her chin towards the little girl, both hands on her hips in the most matronly manner.

"Molly, Arthur, this here is Clara—she's been through rough past days and I need your help watching her." Molly nodded wordlessly and motioned for Hermione to follow her up the stairs, headed towards the bedroom Hermione once shared with Ginny Weasley. Arthur came up just a few minutes later with a glass of warmed milk and a plate full of biscuits, a look of concern on his now wrinkly face, strands of gray becoming increasingly more apparent through his ginger hair. Hermione thanked him and he silently shook his head, kind blue eyes taking in the sight of the little girl still in her St. Mungo's hospital robes.

After Clara had eaten and fallen asleep, which didn't take too long, Hermione quietly exited the bedroom and met with her surrogate parents downstairs.

"Her father was murdered," she said in a hushed tone, "I'm investigating the case. I've reason to believe that once he finds out about her, if he hasn't already, that he'll attempt an attack. She witnessed it all…" Molly gasped in horror, a hand covering her lips and eyes wide as Arthur reflexively took her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

"No need to say more, darling. Do what you need to do and Arthur and I will look after her." Molly promised, stroking Hermione's arm comfortingly. "Clara is just the granddaughter of a cousin staying here a few days…" She said with a wink and Hermione nodded, headed for the apparition point by the front door.

"Molly—let me know if you need anything or if she needs me."

"Don't worry, dear, will do."

"Thank you then," Hermione said rather awkwardly, "and sweet dreams." Before either Weasleys could respond she had popped away and a worried Molly buried herself in her husband's arms. Another little child whose life was being ruined by violence and the cruelty of men. She thought of Harry—the boy she considered to be like a son who she believed to have disappeared into the world out of all the pain and loss he'd endured in his life; she thought of young Teddy Lupin who hadn't a single memory of his wonderful and courageous parents. Molly thought of her own son, the always smiling, joking and laughing Fred and how his death had caused a little piece of her heart to die as well.

"Oh Arthur, poor little Clara…" She whispered, before she sobbed into his embrace.

"Well she's got us now, love, and Hermione too—we'll take right good care of her and we'll protect her from all harm, won't we?" Molly nodded, and Arthur, his arm still wrapped around his wife's shoulder, guided her up the stairs to their bedroom, muttering the spells that strengthened the protective wards around their house under his breath.

…

Hermione apparated amidst the trees surrounding Hestia Manor, the very place she found Clara. She couldn't trust the local aurors to efficiently search and sweep the place for clues. McLaggen had made it clear as day when he'd said the locals classified it as being a robbery. Hermione was no fool—Rupert Shelley's death wasn't any robbery, it was cold, premeditated, they had tortured him before cursing him dead. What had they wanted from him? What kind of information could he possibly have had? What kind of business would a squib professor, a recluse, have with Dolohov or any Deatheater for that matter?

She was surrounded by darkness, her wand rightfully in her hand. It was cold and she cursed herself for not having a warmer coat or a scarf. She trod carefully through the trees until she could properly see the manor. It was moments like these that Hermione wished she could have an invisibility cloak… Before thoughts of Harry and the many times they had been under the cloak together, impossibly close invaded her mind. She could do without the ghost of him haunting her tonight.

Hermione remembered the backdoor in the kitchen—she couldn't take any risks, not when she was without backup. She arrived at the door minutes later and whispered _Alohomora_. As she expected, the door instantly unlocked and Hermione cast a silencing spell on its hinges just in case. She opened it gently and looked around, trying to catch a glimpse at anything or anyone that could potentially cause her harm. Hermione sighed in relief as she hadn't been able to detect anyone and quietly entered the kitchen shutting the door behind her. She cast the _lumos_ spell on her wand and passed the archway that lead to the dining room which she hadn't the chance to look into earlier.

The room had once been beautiful and opulent, she thought, with dark wood paneling full of rich carvings and judging by the vintage crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, missing a few light bulbs. The large wooden table was covered in books, journals and papers and Hermione had the feeling that Rupert Shelley hadn't much of a habit of using the room for meals. A large wooden cabinet with glass doors held what she recognized as Ming dynasty porcelain plates, most of them priceless and covered in dust. With the light of her wand, Hermione read through the stacks of papers and leafed through the journals, hoping that something within those pages could shed some light on the case.

What she found in the papers were mostly notations on local fauna and flora and elements of a research Shelley apparently had been conducting on an old Catholic monastery not too far away. Normally Hermione would be utmostly interested on the subject of medieval poetry and biblical illuminations, but a feeling in her gut told her that this wasn't why Rupert Shelley's body was now laying in Andromeda Tonks' morgue. Still, Hermione uttered the _memoria transcribere_ spell she invented years ago to copy all the pages with her wand from where later on, much like with a pensieve, she would have access to everything. From the dining room once again, Hermione found herself alone in the foyer and cautiously climbed up the grand staircase.

…

For the next hour or so Hermione went in and out of several rooms, most of them with furniture covered in dusty white sheets—too much house for just two inhabitants. As Hermione moved further into the dark wood-paneled corridor, she came across what she was sure was Clara's bedroom. The room was light and airy unlike the rest of the house, with delicate lilac wallpaper, toys and children's books scattered about. In the middle of the room was a Victorian iron-framed bed painted white with floral and pastel patterned blankets and pillows, a teddy bear abandoned on top. Hermione took the bear which she assumed was dear to the little girl, shrunk it and slipped it inside her jean pocket. From the look of it, the Aurors hadn't bothered to look around and sweep for clues as she had ordered and to be perfectly honest it frustrated her deeply what the Auror academy had become in the four years that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been replaced as Minister of Magic.

She searched around, within the toys, beneath the mattress and bed, in the vents, underneath any loose floorboards, behind picture and wall frames and drawers, but nothing that could possibly explain the cause of professor Rupert Shelley's death. Though tired, frustrated and dying to get home and soak in her bathtub, Hermione was determined to search through the entire home. As she closed the door of Clara's bedroom, she entered the final bedroom, across from it and let out a sigh of relief as she realized it was Shelley's. She began her search, thorough and careful not to leave things out of place. She was in the middle of searching through his nightstand drawer when she heard heavy doors slamming followed by the pounding of footsteps up the staircase. Hermione cursed under her breath before pushing the drawers closed and almost launching herself into the wooden wardrobe. Her heart pounded in her chest and blood rushed to her cheeks from the adrenaline. It was almost four in the morning, who could it possibly be? What was he or she looking for?

…

Hermione considered apparating home, but that was too on the nose and she couldn't risk being detected because of house wards going on. So, she waited what felt like hours until she was startled by a boot-clad foot kicking the door open revealing a large, burly man wearing dark robes, his face shadowed by the cloak that he wore, in a way that Hermione couldn't identify his features. He began to turn things over in the bedroom, all the while searching for something as well—until he came across a rather large and round tin box, the kind that came with butter cookies in them, that had been on the bookshelf and Hermione cursed herself for not having looked there before. Before he left with the can, apparently satisfied, she was able to catch sight of the brand name: _Pembridge Bakery & Co., Est. London 1923_ and on impulse she pulled out her wand and pointed it in his direction, casting _stupify_. As the red light flashed through the dimly lit room and in a split second the man tumbled to the ground, the can of biscuits flying from his hands and hitting the ground. Hermione uncovered the unconscious man's face and was surprised to discover she'd seen it before—Vincent Crabbe—who she well remembered as being in house Slytherin in her year, one of Malfoy's lackeys.

Before the effects of her stunning spell could pass, she pulled her wizarding camera that she kept shrunk in one of her pockets out, snapping pictures of him and the bedroom to analyze later. In an ideal world, Hermione would be able to detain Crabbe and take him to interrogation, but she couldn't for the life of her trust anyone in the academy, especially her superiors. Hermione stepped over Vincent, grabbed the can of biscuits and gathered its contents that had scattered across the threshold—a jumble of papers and old photographs, a lock of hair and disapparated.

…

Hermione arrived home to find lights on and the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen. She pulled off her coat and draped it on the back of an armchair before entering the large kitchen of her apartment where she came across Andromeda Tonks, dressed in Hermione's blue plush house robe, her black curly hair, identical to those of the evil older sister who had in many ways ruined both their lives, adorned by more and more gray tendrils as she rounded on sixty.

"I thought I told you I wouldn't be home for dinner…" Hermione said, smugly as she pulled out a chair and plopped into it, crossing her arms over the table and laying her head over them tiredly.

"Someone's got to provide you an alibi…" Andromeda said with a knowing smirk as she glanced at Hermione's direction and rolled her eyes. "And just so you know, it's nearly six in the morning, so technically breakfast." With a swish of her wand, the muggle stove was on and eggs were cracking into a frying pan with butter, and slices of bread flew inside the warm oven to become toast.

"Any news on the professor?" Andromeda shrugged.

"I gather you were at the crime scene…"

"His manor in Yorkshire."

"Hmm—remember the girl? I ran a muggle DNA test to get a second opinion of sorts, he's not her father in the biological sense, but they are related."

"Oh." Hermione sat up in curiosity, eyebrows raised as they usually did when she was interested. "Well, I was at the house and can guarantee he was doing the raising. She had a cute girly room full of toys and there were photographs of them, even with her as an infant."

"And the girl, where is she now? St. Mungo's still?"

"At the Burrow with Molly and Arthur." Hermione had the can of biscuits in front of her now and was beginning to leaf through its contents. Andromeda waved her wand a few more times again and plates, teacups and tiny spoons were set immaculately on top of the wooden table, pieces of toast landing on a designated plate and the frying pan with eggs scraping a half of its contents for Andromeda and the other for Hermione.

"You're such a show-off, witch." Hermione said to her with a roll of her eyes. Andromeda grinned with a brightness in her blue eyes that Hermione hadn't seen in a long time.

"And you need to take advantage of the magic in your veins more, honestly… You're just like Ted sometimes, insisting on doing _everything_ the Muggle way." The older woman chuckled before she took a bite of her toast.

"You didn't look sad…" Hermione said in a softer tone of voice as she watched Andromeda with interest. "Usually when you speak of him, or Dora, you get that look on your face, like you're going to sneeze but instead you're just a prideful Black who doesn't cry."

"I do not look like I'm holding a _sneeze_!" Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the woman's look of utter horror. "And whatever do you mean?"

"I mean what I said—you just spoke of Ted and you didn't have that sad look in your eyes… Like it's okay to speak of him now." Andromeda took a sip of her coffee as she thought of Hermione's remark.

"Well, it has been nearly twelve years…" She stated, moments later as Hermione began to dig into her breakfast. "And when will you lose that sadness in your eyes that Harry left?" Hermione stopped chewing and frowned deeply.

"I don't know that I will." She admitted, drinking her own coffee. It was now Andromeda's hawk-like eyes that watched her every movement.

"Well, you won't if you don't try, if you don't allow yourself." Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed as Andromeda said this, but now the older witch had that stern motherly look about her as her neatly manicured hands reached across the table and grasped around her wrist. "Don't you forget that I know exactly how you feel—to feel abandoned and all alone. But you are not alone Hermione, you have family in myself and in Teddy, in the Weasley's and you know that! You're young, prettier than you've ever been—have I mentioned how gorgeous your hair's been lately? _Merlin_ , I'm jealous! The amount of men who look at you with awe and with desire and women too... You can't not live your life fully because idiot Harry decided to leave one day and never return. You are the brightest witch of your generation, you have broken every record there is to break within the Auror academy and you have letters flying in almost daily with job proposals, interviews, the likes." Andromeda's blue eyes were burning into Hermione's brown, "You are Hermione _fucking_ Granger and Harry Potter would've been lost without you, hell, our world as we know it would be."

Hermione was speechless after Andromeda's speech and that wasn't something that happened often. The tension around the kitchen, between them, was palpable and Hermione no longer wanted to be scrutinized and judged beneath that gaze.

"I-I'm tired…" She mumbled out as she slid off her chair, breakfast had gone cold and the mysterious tin can lay abandoned on top of the table.

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